Julia's Salon de Beauté in Tadfield. Crowley enters. The three staff – Julia, Peter, and Mindy – have divided up the tasks for whenever Crowley happens to drop in. He never makes an appointment. Mindy does manicures, Julia facials, and Peter loves to braid hair. They draw straws each morning to determine who greets Crowley to sort out the session's tasks and take over other clients as necessary so Crowley doesn't have to wait. Today Peter won the draw. Mutters "Woof!" to Julia, walks over to greet Crowley, gestures to invite him to his chair. He speaks with an Estuary accent:

Not really ready for a shampoo yet, Mr. Crowley. Don't want your hair to get too dry. Is a massage and re-styling all right with you? . . . Your manicure still looks good. Unless you prefer a different color?

Just the hair is fine. A braid, I think.

It's a bit early, and Peter's incoming appointment has not yet appeared, but will just have to wait if she or he does. Somehow the clients never seem to mind waiting if Crowley is present. Peter gestures to invite Crowley to his chair. Once Crowley is seated, arranges the neck paper strip and shoulder cape, starts brushing the demon's long auburn hair. Crowley has removed his glasses, but keeps his eyes closed to narrow slits.

Shall we try a Scythian braid today?

I leave it to your judgment.

Peter brushes and combs for a long pleasant while. Puts down the tools and pushes his fingers into Crowley's hair to massage his scalp for a delicious interval. Eventually starts to separate the braid strands. Spends a long time carefully twisting and braiding until Crowley sports a neat pair of rope braids down his back.

Once Crowley is gone, when there's a brief break in the clientele stream, Julia approaches Peter and murmurs softly:

What would we do without Mr. Crowley, eh, love? You've noticed how our clientele has increased since he started coming in? I'm thinking we might have to hire another chair.

Peter waves his hand as if he's just touched a hot stove.

I'm thinking a small private room for personal relaxation massage therapy. He never gives the slightest hint that he's into that sort of thing, but I'd positively fling myself to my knees if he was. Slay me, Daddy. (Groans comically)

You're not alone, you know. Mindy had to visit the staff room last week after she finished with him.

I wondered about that.

Julia laughs.

Perhaps a small fridge for ice and cold towels?

D'you mind if I leave a bit early today? Think I need a little workout with Oli.

No worries. We'll cover for you.


Peter and Oli are getting dressed after their shower. Peter is about 1.75 meters and slim, light cappuccino skin, has some Senegal ancestry mixed in with his British stock. Oli is from Glasgow, sturdy and muscular, with dark hair and beard. He's donned his workman's kilt and is lacing up his boots.

Doesn't anyone ever remark about your going commando on the job?

Nae danger. I'm the foreman. Anyone hangs around the ladder when I'm goin' up, they can go boil their head.

Thanks for taking off early.

'Twas pure dead brilliant. You were on fire. That tall ginger came in today, I take it?

Yep. I don't know what it is about him, but he has everyone nearly chewing the carpet before he leaves.

You ever think of doing him?

Sure. If you weren't "my ane true love" I'd probably be panting like a puppy. No danger, though. He's attached like a magnet to that Mr. Fell.

Who's got the better ass?

He does. Tight as a military bun. But your shoulders are to die for.

Peter hugs Oli.

Tell me you love me.

I do, y'know.

Say it.

I love you.

Oli holds Peter's ears and looks him straight in the eyes.

I love you, too. Never doubt that.

Ollie grabs his jacket.

Let's go out for porter and steak.

Half the coo, I'm thinkin'.